The boar, despite its best efforts to turn me into a human shish kebaba-splat-plate, ended up being a surprisingly tasty meal. I mean, damn. Who knew buzzsaw-faced boars could be so succulent? It was like the forest itself had marinated the damn thing in a blend of herbs and spices, each bite an orchestral choir of the heavens made of savory goodness-angels.
Maybe I was just deliriously hungry, but damn if that wasn't the best boar I'd ever eaten. And I'd eaten my fair share of pulled pork sandwiches back in my old life, Barbeque was third on my list of go-to foods just behind sushi and the second place italian, so I considered myself somewhat of a connoisseur.
As I savored the last morsel, a warm feeling spread through me, not just from the hearty meal but from a deeper, more primal source.
My Qi, which had been depleted after that encounter with the guards and the subsequent saw-face horrorshow ballet, was surging back with a vigor I hadn't felt before.
I checked my cultivation level, and my eyebrows shot up in surprise. I was at the 4th level of Meridian Forging. The fight, that chaotic dance of dodging and dismemberment, hadn't pushed me anywhere, but I was three levels higher before it even started! And the boar, aside from providing a delicious meal, had boosted me another level and three-quarters towards the 5th.
"Huh," I muttered, wiping my greasy hands on my slightly covered in dried mud and pig blood robes. "Not bad for a day's work."
Then I remembered the Qi restoration pills I'd splurged on back in the city. I pulled one out of the pouch, its surface now shimmering with a faint, almost ethereal, glow. As soon as I touched it, a jolt of pure Qi surged through me, so intense it nearly knocked me off my feet.
"Whoa, there!" I exclaimed, hastily stuffing the pill back into the pouch. "Looks like Master Alchemist Glowing-Eyes got nothing on my cheat ability, with these i'd freaking explode!"
Apparently, my cheat ability had upgraded the pills as well. They were now so potent that even touching one was like mainlining a shot of pure cultivation energy-drink. I estimated that eating one would probably result in a spectacular, and likely messy, explosion of Qi overload. Not exactly the kind of breakthrough I was aiming for.
The good news? My own Qi regeneration had also been enhanced. A quick meditation session, maybe two and a half hours, and I'd be back to full capacity. And 'full capacity' was now a whole different ball game. My Qi reserves, even without the pills, were at least fifteen times larger than before.
Which meant one very important thing: my disguise technique was essentially unlimited. The drain on my Qi was now so negligible compared to my regeneration rate that I could theoretically maintain the Kong Di Qing persona indefinitely.
I leaned back against a tree trunk, considering my options.
On one hand, I could ditch the disguise, revert to Jang Ku's less-than-appealing visage, and try to lay low until this whole "Heavenly Demon" debacle blew over. But considering I’d already pissed off an entire town (and possibly a clan, depending on whether the 'Shu Long Wastes' actually existed), it was probably a matter of time before my true identity was revealed anyway.
On the other hand, I could lean into the chaos. Embrace the Kong Di Qing persona, crank up the bullshit to eleven, and see just how much trouble I could stir up before this world decided to collectively exorcise me using an exercise yogi or a weightlifting monk.
That's right, I made a flexorcist joke, deal with it.
A slow grin spread across my face.
"Fuck it," I muttered, pulling out one of the books I'd looted from the bookstore back in the city. It was titled Curiosities of the Soul and Mysteries of the Continent - a hefty tome filled with maps, legends, and enough bizarre lore to make even the most seasoned fantasy nerd raise an eyebrow.
I had a feeling Kong Di Qing, that accidental creation of my cheat ability, was about to become a legend. A legend of epic proportions, fueled by a big tank of Qi, a knack for making enemies, and a wardrobe that screamed 'I'm not sure what I'm doing, but I'm doing it with style.'
I got a third of that, but the other two need work!
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Hours slipped by as I delved deeper into the bizarre world of cultivation lore. The book, Curiosities of the Soul and Mysteries of the Continent, was a treasure trove of strange creatures, ancient prophecies, and philosophical debates that made my head spin.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
It was like someone had taken every cultivation-fantasy novel I’d ever devoured, mashed them together in a cosmic blender, and sprinkled in a generous helping of 'what the actual fuck?' for good measure.
Why is this snake depicted as being the size of a city that honest to god looked like it could hold 10 billion civilians to be eaten! Are we having a Tang dynasty strategic victory up in here?
I’d learned about spirit beasts that could shapeshift into beautiful women and apparently, vice versa, ancient artifacts that could grant immortality or maybe just a really bad case of indigestion, and cultivation techniques that promised to unlock the secrets of the universe or possibly just make your hair really shiny.
But it was one particular entry, tucked away in a chapter titled 'When The Heavenly Court Is Forced To Intervene,' that made me sit up straight, my heart pounding like a drum solo.
Heavenly Demons and Heavenly Saints, the passage declared in elegant calligraphy, are souls sent by the heavens to inhabit the bodies of those who have either offended the cosmic order or committed great evil in their mortal lives.
It went on to explain that these 'replacements' were usually Heavenly Saints – righteous individuals destined to guide humanity towards a more virtuous path. Occasionally, however, a Heavenly Demon would slip through the cracks, wreaking havoc and sowing discord wherever it went.
My eyes widened as I read further.
Clans aligned with demonic cultivation, the passage continued, often falsely accuse Heavenly Saints of being Heavenly Demons in order to discredit them and undermine their influence.
It can even be done out of spite, or if the family of the replaced individual is particularly fond of their wicked offspring, despite their transgressions.
My jaw dropped as I read further.
'Those fuckers friggin’ lied to the whole town just ‘cus they’re rotten assholes?!' I tried shouting, my voice echoing through the forest. 'So I could have been invited to the empire to serve as some kind of advisor and do good shit while gettin’ the good shit like a harem of hot ladies if these jerks weren’t so garbage?!'
The words tumbled out, a torrent of outrage fueled by equal parts indignation and the lingering effects of my disguise technique.
“Those wretched reprobates lied to the townspeople!” I bellowed, pacing back and forth, as my hands clenched into fists. “I swear, these rotten evildoers will pay! I will even be refused my just dues due to their horrible and evil ways!”
My voice echoed through the trees, an echo of righteous anger and something else. Something stilted, unnatural.
I stopped abruptly, a frown creasing my brow.
'That,' I thought, my internal monologue thankfully back to its usual snarky self, 'is not what I wanted to say.'
It seemed that even when I was genuinely pissed off, the Kong Di Qing persona still had a way of hijacking my vocabulary and turning my righteous fury into a Shakespearean monologue.
Well, screw that. I might be stuck playing the part of a fabricated noble, but I wasn't going to let a stupid disguise dictate my vocabulary.
Time to find a new script. One with a little more grit, a little more Janson, and a whole lot more 'fuck you' to the people who thought they could get away with branding me a demon.
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"Right, so, poetic insults and grand pronouncements it is," I muttered to myself, pacing back and forth beneath the canopy of trees. The forest, with its rustling leaves and chirping birds, had become my makeshift therapy room as I tried to wrap my head around the latest revelation.
The disguise technique, that wondrous, infuriatingly complex piece of cultivation magic that was keeping my true identity hidden for now, had a mind of its own. Well, not literally a mind, but a set of rules, a code of conduct that dictated how I interacted with the world. And apparently, one of those rules was: "Thou shalt not sound like a goddamn barbarian, even when expressing righteous indignation."
I'd noticed it before, the way my words would shift, become more formal, more flowery, whenever I got emotional. But I'd chalked it up to the technique's built-in translation software, doing its best to adapt my 21st-century slang to a world where people probably still used carrier pigeons and considered indoor plumbing a luxury.
But after that outburst about my demonically inclined Ku clan, it was clear that the disguise wasn't just translating my words, it was filtering them, shaping them, making sure that even when I was pissed off, I still sounded like a character from a poetic novel about flowers in the ye-old sunlight.
I tried experimenting. I thought about things that made me angry: corrupt politicians, reality TV, people who chew with their mouths open. Each time, my internal monologue remained my own, a delightful blend of sarcasm and profanity. But the moment I tried to express those thoughts out loud, the disguise kicked in, transforming my angry rants into eloquent diatribes that would make a Shakespearean actor weep with envy.
"Those individuals of ill repute who dare to consume their sustenance with a blatant disregard for the sanctity of silence, may they forever find their shoes filled with pebbles and their pillows stuffed with porcupine quills!"
See? Poetic as hell.
I tried calming myself, focusing on the gentle rustle of leaves, the soothing chirps of birds. It helped, a little.
The disguise's grip on my vocabulary loosened slightly, allowing a few more colloquialisms and contemporary phrases to slip through.
But even then, I was still at least eighty percent Shakespeare, twenty percent Janson.
'Well, shit,' I sighed, leaning back against a tree trunk. 'Looks like Kong Di Qing is stuck being a poet, even when he wants to tell the world to go fuck itself.'
‘You need to be less of a goddamn ass!’
“You need to attempt to be more of a kind individual!”
The disguise technique wasn't even active! This lingering side effect is just-
I sighed again, staring into the distance with a deep frown of exhausted irritation.
Then I shrugged and smirked
It was frustrating, sure. But also, in a weird way, kind of hilarious.